Merykara
by TheRealSnowWhite
Summary: A very different Vampire story - set in the old world opposed to the new one, beginning 4,000 years ago in a lost city and a lost culture. Two young girls Merykara and Arsinoë live their undeath in luxury and comfort, in the very different Eastern society
1. A Pregnant Girl

Merykara loved being pregnant. After all those years of gawky childhood, the worrying time when she'd had more legs than sense and a face like a horse, she'd shed the extra fat from her frame and lost that distinctive curl of childhood. She was now a proper woman. The equal of her mother. The equal of each and every woman that she passed on the streets of Itjtawy. Well, more than equal. She glowed with the joy brought from the child in her belly, and she could see the jealousy in some women's faces as she passed them, her belly thrust out before her. It felt almost obscene, how swollen and fat she was. Her belly button had turned outwards with the pressure of it. All she could do was waddle about the place. But she had her place in the world, and she was proud to be a proper grown up. She'd only had her first red moon just over a year ago but to be in pup so soon was held by all as a fantastic omen for her life to come.

"She is fertile and she is healthy! The Scarlet Lady will shine on you and bring you many sons!" Women would smile warmly at her husband, Abasi, and pat Merykara's stomach encouragingly. Merykara felt so proud for her husband when this happened. Abasi was a lot older than her, nearing forty (what an age!) and he already had a wife and children. Sadly, all their nine children were girls. There was no son and heir to keep the farm on Abasi's passing. He had chosen Merykara when he could have had any young girl in their district. He was not bad looking and reasonably well off; a fine match for any young girl. Gahiji, her father, knew Abasi through a mutual friend and Abasi's first wife Femi was friends with her mother. A good match all round.

Merykara had not been put out by Abasi's great age (she was but fourteen) nor his wife. She couldn't have argued anyway. The match had been made and she had no say. But she had grown to love Abasi like a favoured uncle. He gave her small gifts, like pretty bracelets of red beads, and when he came home she would sit on his lap while he ate. He would play with her coppered curls and call her silly pet names. He was really not very fierce. Femi, his first wife, was just as kind. She took on Merykara as another daughter, which made the girl feel less homesick. The two women would often spend the entire day in each other's company; baking bread, rinsing clothes, haggling at the bazaar. Sometimes Merykara would look to her sister wife and see the same desperation in her dark eyes that she saw so often in Abasi's eyes when he came to her room at night.

So much rested on her fat belly. It had better be a son. She couldn't bear to think what might happen if it was yet another girl. Pack her off back home with a divorce most likely. A forgotten wife. She'd probably never be matched to anyone else. Merykara shivered despite the stifling hot night. It was awful; sticky and still, the worst kind of night. She tossed about on her headrest, each position more and more uncomfortable. She tried to remember what it was that had woken her up. She'd been having such a lovely dream, even if it was a little strange. The goddess had beenjabbing her in the stomach, laughing all the time. Maybe something actually had; with each breath in she felt a horrible jabbing pain in her belly. She pulled herself into a sitting position, as heavy as an old woman, and gently rubbed her bulging bump. Everywhere was sticky. She'd been sweating a lot, she probably needed a drink. A fresh paroxysm of pain made her cry out. Was she quickening? The baby wasn't due for another two weeks!

"Merykara? What's wrong?" Femi hobbled into the room half asleep, her head shining in the moonlight.

"Pain. In my belly. Really hurts." The girl whimpered in short gasps. Femi nodded, her eyes half shut, and sat next to her on the bench, patting the girl's head in a comforting manner.

"The pup is probably showing himself a bit early." The older woman broke off into a yawn. She was not the least bit concerned, having probably experienced all the different aches and panics a pregnant woman could. "I'll go get the birthing stool and get Abasi to fetch the midwife. But she will not arrive for another few hours. Try to get some more sleep." The woman patted Merykara's stomach gently. Then she rubbed her fingers together, and sniffed them. Suddenly she started screaming for their husband. Merykara looked at her own hands. They were covered in a dark liquid - blood. Her own blood. The young girl began screaming hysterically in panic, before fainting.

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**A/N: This is a small story I've been discussing with a friend - and fellow True Blood fan - for a few weeks now. We just felt that it'd be nice to see some other vampires, ones outside America, and a wee bit exotic.**

**But fear not! If you enjoy and stick with the story... who knows what could happen?**

**Reviews are love - I'm willing to hear any critique.**


	2. Bringing life and bringing death

**A/N: So no reviews yet (sad face boo hoo) but i think that may be because I don't have any main characters.... yet.**

**Anywho, just so you know, story will be using elements from the books as well. (I put it under the TV show as I will also be using story lines from the show.)**

**Thank you to the first one to add this to their alerts - cynsforgiven, you may be my new favorite person. **

**Reviews are love, and if you at least somewhat enjoy this story please show that you love me.**

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She felt Abasi's soft hands picking her up - soft as a woman's from the grease in the sheep's wool - and she had the impression of moving very quickly. Her head lolled against her husband's shoulder as he held her in his arms like a child, running to the temple. The priestesses were the only people who could help her now. The priestesses of Sekhmet had gained a reputation for being excellent healers, and Merykara had been dedicated to the goddess when she had been born. The Scarlet Lady ruled over women and blood - surely she would see into her divine heart to cure the girl now in Abasi's arms. She was growing pale and incoherent, more like a child than a grown woman.

Merykara wandered in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she was in a grand stone room in complete and utter agony. Other times she was high above the clouds, soaring above the Mother Nile. In one of her more aware moments she could feel her child tearing itself from her body. Thankfully, one of the priestesses had thought to put a wooden cylinder between her teeth. She bit on this hard, diverting herself from the agony as her body rid itself of its' parasite. She heard a tiny wail; the babe was born. He was safe. Her head fell backwards and she felt tired again.

"A boy! The gods be praised they have blessed you with a boy child!" Merykara smiled faintly. She had done what was expected of her and given her husband a son. Through the pain she could feel a faint sense of euphoria. But she felt so tired. Tired right in her bones. She couldn't even bring the strength to raise her arms and hold her infant son. He was held very closely to her by a priestess. He was dark haired like Abasi, but his angry little eyes were like hers, a dull pebble green. He had such a little angry face, red and wrinkled. He cried out and she knew he was hungry.

"Shhh little one…" The priestess rocked him gently, and a great wave of jealousy flushed through Merykara's body. She couldn't hold him - she was far, far too tired. "Let's get you fed, we have to leave mother to rest. We've got milk fresh from the udder for you and your mother. But now we have to let her sleep."

"Mosi." Merykara whispered. "His name is to be Mosi." She could not go without naming him, it was one of the most important things she could. To let him go unnamed would to be to deprive him of his soul.

"That is a fine name. I shall take Mosi to meet his father for the first time."

The woman left the room carrying the wriggling bundle. Sleep. Yes. She would sleep. Besides, everything stank of honey and it'd always made her sleepy. Her mother had always used the scent as incense before going to bed and something about that always made Merykara's eyelids droop. Not that she needed much encouragement; the young girl had lost a lot of blood, and the droning chants of priestesses nearby as they invoked the goddess lulled her like a child. They were calling upon that fierce Scarlet Lady to visit her and heal her in the night.

Merykara fell into a disturbed sleep, punctuated with disturbances and strange dreams. At some point she was fed warm goat's milk mixed with honey, another time a burner of basil oil was placed nearby. Perhaps that was what made her dream so strangely. She felt the goddess herself staring at her prone form. Sekhmet's face was impassive, her great glowing eyes emotionless. She stalked through the stone room, and Merykara noticed there was a vast lake of blood, stretching out as far as her eyes could see. It was the old tale; surely then the lake was truly alcohol and the goddess would learn her lesson. The great lion lapped the liquid, with no sign of revulsion or disgust. She seemed to enjoy it, glaring across at the girl. Her breath stank of carrion, and she was growing closer. It was like she was stalking her… suddenly she ran and roared straight at Merykara.

Merykara jumped awake. A nightmare, that's all. What was weird was that she could hear the sound of something lapping. The burner had gone out, and the basil scent had now been replaced with a metallic taint in the air. She sat up, and noticed for the second time that night that she was sat in a pool of her own blood. Her linen dress had been ripped to expose her delicate thighs. A deep bite was clotting - had one of the holy animals escaped and attacked her as she slept? Was that it on the outskirts of the pool? A shadowy head was there, lapping up her bloody eagerly. To her horror, the head raised, revealing a ghastly face, dripping with blood, the stench of the grave thick upon him. Before she could scream, he was on her. Squeezing her swollen belly, her milk laden breasts, her thighs, he was on her neck and after a terrible pain, Merykara lapsed into a comforting darkness.


	3. The creature and a new beginning

Thanks to aurora151989 for her review, and I've now put in a small section about the turning of Merykara. I was originally going to have it (aiming for a more WTF angle) but now there's a small section with the creature that made Merykara.

If you're reading this, please give a review. I don't mind what you say, I'd love to have any critiques you have, just let me know that I'm not the only one who likes this story!

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The creature would have smelt her out way out in the desert. She had been leaking everywhere, more dead than alive. A horrific birth, leaking, leaking, leaking, sweet and hot and delicious. He'd planned to just leave her, to let her bleed her sweet life force out over the stones of the temple. But she'd woken up, and turned her eyes on him. They were absolutely huge in her face, wide with fear and with the certainty of death. The creature hadn't been looked at full in the face for longer than he could imagine. Perhaps when what was now this vast velvet desert had once been lush and abundant woodland. So he'd taken her, and turned her, dug a hole for out in the shifting sands that made this very Egypt. The creature left her to her fate.

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Dry. The world was dry and hot. Stifling hot and dry. Her mouth was full of sand. Everything was dark. The deep dark purple of the sand at night. Merykara's mouth felt like straw. Everything was full of sand. She was buried in it. She'd been buried alive! Had she died? Why hadn't they done something to her body? Why had she no grave goods? She chided herself mentally; her first thoughts ought to be why they had buried her when she was so obviously alive. This was not her spirit destined for the eternal fields, it was her and she was alive. But she wouldn't be for long if she stayed in this hole. How was she still alive in this hole, actually? She really ought to have choked.

Because lying there thinking about these things was going to help. She needed to get out of the ground! She clawed desperately at the sand around her, digging herself out. Merykara had not been deeply under the surface; she was in a relatively shallow pit. Once she broke the surface, she felt the desert wind on her face and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't chilly. It was soothing. It smelt of home; dry sand, night air and fresh water. She could see the city, the beloved river and the temple. She hadn't wandered far - the temple. Merykara's memory came flooding back painfully. Who was that creepy man? **Why in the name of the goddess had he buried her out in the desert? **She felt the side of her neck fearfully. No marks. Her neck felt smooth and cold under her fingertips. What would Abasi think? She hoped she hadn't been from the temple long. Was her son fine and healthy? He would need to be fed. She was hungry. She was hungrier than she'd ever felt in her life. It was a deep, almost primordial hunger which gnawed at her stomach. Raising herself out of the pit, she made her way unsteadily back to the temple. Merykara examined her body in the clear, bright moonlight. She was nude (not that that would raise any eyebrows. People would merely presume her a slave.) But there were no marks on her body. Her stomach was as flat as it had ever been. Her breasts were not full of the milk needed to feed her child. Her body was… just about perfect. It was like she were a statue, carved perfectly from marble.

It was about half way to the temple that Merykara realised that she wasn't breathing. At that point she got really scared.

It was normal to be scared, the priestesses told her. They were senior than those who had treated her three days earlier as it now transpired. They were almost as fearsome as Sekhmet herself, decked out in gold jewellery, their palms dyed with henna, the distinctive rosettes of the goddess tattooed upon their nipples. They had seen people like her before, but never so young, so fresh, so beautiful. They took her hands and Merykara could see the tears of religious devotion streaking down their cheeks through the antimony make-up. People like her had often passed their way, seeking solace from their natural urges, but she would stay and they would look after her, care for her, by the Scarlet Lady she would stay with them!

"But what am I?" She had asked over and over again while they smiled indulgently. They stroked her short curls and admired the colour of her eyes, but avoided answering the question directly. They were so very kind to her. Throughout her life, Merykara had never been in control of anything. She had never been paid much attention until she had married and she had certainly never had a comfortable existence. But the priestesses lavished her with compliments and promised her so many things. Her mouth gaped open at their suggestions and she felt… it was hard to describe. There was a strange feeling, deep in her gut. She wanted to be here, kept in the temple, to live in the luxury they were describing to her. Merykara was far too naïve to anticipate that they would expect something in return.

"Little one, do you know the story of when the great lady Sekhmet smote the enemies of Re?"

Merykara nodded, her eyes wide like a child's. "Yes Holy Mother. Sekhmet was sent down to the land by almighty Re to kill and punish his enemies. She is the goddess of warfare and she killed them. And after they were dead she drank their blood. The blood intoxicated her and she enjoyed the taste so much that she started a spree of killing, purely so she could drink the blood of humanity. This was not approved by Re so he dyed a lake of beer with pomegranate juice so she would think it were blood. The goddess found it and drank it, becoming drunk and no longer a danger to any of us." She looked at the women around her for confirmation of the story and they all nodded at her.

"Can you not see how this, my child, is you? She fed from the blood of the innocent as you shall. You are a living embodiment of the divine goddess. You shall live here and be looked after and fed and live life eternal."

Merykara did not have much of a backbone. She'd spent her life doing what her father told her to do and what Abasi told her to do. This seemed like such an opportunity and she didn't feel like she was in any place to argue. Something had saved her life here in the temple, and now the priestesses were going to give her anything and everything she could have possible wanted by any stretch of her limited imagination. So she let herself by led, as meek as a lamb. She was bathed in scented water, dressed in a fresh and crisp linen skirt, and was given a formal wig. It was dark and shaped into a long bob cut, fitting closely over her copper curls. Looking at her reflection in the bronze mirror, Merykara did not believe it was herself peeping back at her. The reflection showed a woman who looked much older than herself, pale and serious looking. Abasi would be quite surprised at the changes in herself.

"My husband will not believe it when he sees me!" She joked to the young serving girl who was adjusting the wig minutely upon her head, the pink tip of her tongue sticking out the tiniest bit. The girl froze at this statement, and the wig drooped to the left.

"I will be seeing him soon, won't I?"

The look on the serving girl's face told her everything.


	4. The path of the goddess

**In this chapter we'll meet Arsinoë, Merykara's first child. Not the only one, but the only one I'll write about significantly. Lilith and Marcus will show up at some time, but Arsinoë is the one I'm truly interested in. And hopefully you'll like her - you don't get to see much of her full personality, just that she's a lot of a rich bitch.**

**Ahuva and Ahava are Hebrew names meaning 'love' and 'devotion' - suitable names for a pair of Jewish slaves bound to serve a princess. **

**And the events which she describes did happen. The eldest son of Cleopatra II and her brother Ptolemy VIII Physkon was murdered and sent to her in a box. I strongly advise you read up on the Ptolemaic dynasty - not for the purposes of this story, but because they are such an interestingly murderous and incestuous bunch of people. **

**Thank you for the reviews! They are nice :)**

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She never did see them again; her baby son, her husband, the wide, encompassing smiles of her family, the comfort brought by her mother and the love from her siblings. Through the rantings, the rages, the pain she could bring and the tears… so many tears, so many that she thought that her heart would break from the agony that ate away inside…. The priestesses never told her what happened to her baby. She was so very much a kept vampire. Never allowed out of the temple site, always under the ireful eye of her goddess.

Merykara believed utterly that she had been chosen by Sekhmet to lead this life. There would be some great divine reason for this pain, and when she had fulfilled her duty she would be accepted into the field of eternal reeds to live in paradise. It had to happen and it would happen.

People will believe anything that gives them hope. Merykara lived in hope. She lived off it - the hope that some day she would be reunited with those she loved, that someday her duty would be fulfilled and that Egypt would be the land of her girlhood.

These were public hopes. She truly hoped deep in her heart to know what happened to Mosi.

She secretly hoped that he had been one of those lucky babes to live past their first year and that he would find her someday.

The years grew longer and the chance of that happening faded away, like sand streaming through clutching hands. The priestesses grew confused at her questions of him, the people worshipping at the temple wore different clothes and no one seemed to remember that she had once come from a city called Itjtawy.

Merykara continued to hope for it.

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The handmaid peered out into the darkness of the streets outside the Brucheion Palace. All around was still, calm and sedated, a most unusual state of affairs for Alexandria. The vast velvet night stretched out before the tiny party and for the moment, all appeared safe. She glanced to the shrouded girl who stood behind her - tall, with an arrogant bearing, ill-disguised in a servant's clothes. She would never pass as a servant. Her Divine Person Arsinoë, Princess of the Two Lands was a prideful creature, even when running for her life. She made to stride ahead of her two servants, but Ahava whispered, "Mistress! They shall know you for sure if you run ahead! Follow us." The princess' dark eyes flashed menacingly behind her veil but she dutifully followed behind her two handmaids.

Ahava knew her mistress truly began to fear when they entered the alleyways of the city. People pressed close on all sides, even at this late hour and constantly the servant felt her heartbeat drum to the rhythm of terror; surely at any moment the royal guards will march down the street and catch the three of them, dragging their mistress back to her uncle to face who knows what fate. Or perhaps the shawl and veil would be wrenched from her face, letting the people know that the child of a god walked amongst them. They were both likely scenarios, and as much as the princess tried to act demure and deferential, the men around could tell she was an attractive woman. Arsinoë stumbled and whispered words a princess of Egypt should not know. At least in that respect she could pass for some common peasant.

Thank the Lord! The man was there! It had taken twelve gold coins - _Twelve gold coins _in this day and age! Neither Ahava nor her sister would ever hold that much wealth again! - and some pieces of the princess' own jewellery to ensure he would be here and she was thankful he had turned up. He stood in a low papyrus boat on the beginning of the Nile delta, watching them like a hawk.

"You are late." He grumbled, stepping aside for the three of them. His sharp eyes particularly stayed on the veiled princess as she settled into a low seat. Ahuva, Ahava's sister, sat next to her mistress, clutching a battered leather bag closely to her. This bag would have to be kept. Their lives depending on the princess' escape, but this bag was almost as important. The legacy it provided was monumental and Ahava knew that Arsinoë would kill them herself if it was lost.

"We are sorry. The crowds were unexpected." And the fact that they had to wait for the king to fall asleep in a drunken stupour before even attempting to leave the palace.

"Yeah, well the waiting is going to cost you." The man scratched an open sore upon his face and all three girls winced at the sight. "The bag." He said, after mulling it over and wasting precious time. "Give me that bag and I'll take you down to the temple of Sekhmet before dawn breaks."

Ahuva clutched the bag to her chest. This was an unexpected turn of events.

"You shall not have that bag. It is mine." The princess drawled out a command that under every other circumstance would have been fulfilled. Instead the man laughed in her face, breathing noxious wine fumes over her.

"Oh, and I suppose these are your servants! Why don't I let you keep this, _your majesty_?" He laughed at his own joke, then slapped Ahuva, causing the girl to drop her valuable cargo in shock.

The contents fell out and bounced on the floor and the man gaped at it. It was the uraeus crown, exquisitely cast from gold with precious gems and a symbol of the kings of Egypt. There was only one known in existence. It had to be passed from king to king, only being allowed to sit upon the brows of those infused with maat to become part of the godhead. Arsinoë had stolen it for her own reasons, but now all three looked supremely guilty of high treason. They looked at the crown to the man's face, which looked utterly bewildered at the sight of a holy artefact.

"Y-you'll be killed for sure! Old Physkon'll have your heads to decorate his dining chamber!" The man started gabbling. They'd be caught, Ahava thought, feeling her heart sinking. He would alert the guards, and her mistress would be brought back to her father's anger and ravishing.

"That will not be necessary." With a single elegant hand, Arsinoë flung back the mantle from her brow, revealing her famous face and Ptolemaic profile. She seemed to glow in the midnight, radiating almost with a divine glow. The man was struck dumb for a second before remembering his manners and prostrating himself before the princess. "Now you listen to me and you listen good. You will take us to the temple of Sekhmet before dawn, if you want to live." The princess hissed, and for good measure, kicked the man viciously in the head.

Ahava wondered if it was the violence, the command of royalty or a strong sense of self preservation that made the man row so fast.

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The temple rose up in the pre-dawn light like some ethereal vision from the gods. Built from white marble by one of the early Ptolemaic kings, it lay close to abandonment, worshippers long gone to Isis-Aphrodite or the royal cult of Arsinoë II. The fearful statues of the primitive lion goddess glared out across the vast expanse of velvet desert. Arsinoë suddenly gripped her handmaiden's hands so hard that the twins could feel their bones crunching. Whilst her patron goddess was the Scarlet One, Arsinoë had never been allowed to the temple. Never been allowed to see the goddess incarnate who resided inside.

That was who they were going to see. The Holy Mother of the temple, in whom resided the living essence of Sekhmet much like the Buchis Bull, offered to those without hope the way of the goddess. Death in the face of terrible adversity was what she offered, and to these Egyptian primitives there seemed no higher honour.

"To take the way of the goddess… to be safe, and beloved in the arms of Sekhmet." Arsinoë muttered dreamily, as the boat gently hit the stone steps that led into the temple. Then the curves of her mouth turned down, and her eyes turned sharp. "Get rid of the man. There must be no trace that we were ever here."

Only Arsinoë was allowed to see the Holy Mother directly. No mortal may look upon the face of the divine, so only Arsinoë child of gods and mother to future gods was allowed to sit in audience with the Holy Mother. But the servants who worked at the temple allowed Ahuva and Ahava to kneel as close as they dared to the open door. They could hear snatches of conversation between the two deities. "My child… you are so young. This is not the end of your life. Please do not make me make it so." The voice of the Holy Mother sounded so young, so fragile. The voice was slightly dry, and had an accent so strange that Ahava could not place it. The accent, despite the obvious youth, seemed so old. There was something dead in the voice.

"You don't understand!" The princess' voice cracked with desperation. "I had to…" Here she broke off in tears. The princess never cried. She gulped down air. "My brother's body was sent to my mother in a box. It was broken and it was mutilated. He was twelve years old. Our father killed him and he'll be coming after me next. He'll marry me and I'll be forced to carry his brats. Help me divine mother. I do not want to live like this. I cannot and I will not!" The princess started weeping even more now. The steely resolve of a Ptolemy had dissolved away, the floodgates opened. Then… the tears stopped, a small wail, similar to that of someone in pain and then silence.

A few steps. Something being dragged. A sigh. Ahava's knees began to ache on the flagstones. She moved her weight from one knee to another, gently, wincing slightly as the blood rushed to the numb areas.

The door was flung back suddenly, and there the living embodiment of the goddess stood. She was short, but impressive with the flickering torchlight behind her illuminating her silhouette. A inky black formal wig in the old style of the ancient pharaohs was upon her head, and she wore a simple diadem of red stones upon it. Her arms chinked with the gold bracelets she wore - hundreds and hundreds of them, so much that she should be weighed down by them. The same with her earrings, which hung like great golden fists in her ears, and shone in the near dawn light. The same with the gold girdle she wore under her exposed breasts, which too was simple dripping with red stones. The dress was straight and a dazzling white on her round form, contrasting brilliantly with her bronzed skin. It was a girl, younger than the twins and their mistress. Surely she could be no more than fourteen… she had large green eyes, a chubby jaw, and the look of one who was in a constant state of worry. Droplets of blood had fallen on her chest, and now Ahava looked on in horror as she realised that the girl's chubby jaw was wet with the substance. Small drops fell, the time passing agonisingly slowly as the twins watched in horror a single drop travel the curve of her jaw line before it began its descent to the ground, landing in a tiny splash upon the crisp linen of the girl's dress.

She licked her lips guiltily, her large eyes not leaving the handmaidens for an instant. "Your mistress is indisposed. Put her in the stone box downstairs and shut the lid tight. Do not leave her for an instant. She will wake up in three days and…" The Holy Mother took a shuddering breath as if passing some terrible truth. "And she will be hungry."


	5. Connections

**For reviews and watches - ta very much. **

**In this chapter, Merykara connects with the TB universe we all know and love. And if any of you think it's slightly weird... well, say so, I won't care. And it's linked to the season two story line involving V. Whilst I have my own theories based upon why the Queen would be selling it (involving controlling the humans who live in her queendom), for the purposes of this story think how much money she could get from the blood of a 4,000 year old vampiress...**

**It has also been stated in the book series that Islamic countries have allowed vampires to be killed on sight. Just to clarify to those who haven't read the books :)**

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The line was crackling static, the signal desperately trying to connect with its' intended destination. Occasionally there would be a few snippets of Arabic, as operators redirected the call or accidentally added it to an existing call. He cursed. The museum was in a rural region of the country, and hard to reach. The lines were badly in need of repairs, and as the government directory bewailed, they had no direct internet connection.

While he was left in contemplation, a surly voice answered his call. He was quickly shouting in Egyptian Arabic (if only he spoke that language! But annoyance at time wasters is something universally understood.) His attempts to answer the left the line resorting back to static. He should leave this. Getting in contact with such an isolated individual as Merykara was damn near impossible. She liked to reside in seclusion for three months of the year in Egypt, for the rest of the year she found herself 'with as little time as bee with the spring'.

"The Meren Museum for historical antiquities and curiosities, I am Woizero Tessay, how may I help you today?" The woman's lisping Ethiopian accent was sweet and clear on the line, and she was certainly more professional than the previous operator. "May I apologise for any difficulties in reaching us today, as we have been experiencing technical difficulties."

"I would like to speak to the director of the museum please." Merykara had been smart to choose this as a cover. She lived in a country famed for its vast expanse of history; she had a vast collection of rare and unique artefacts. Whilst Egypt was an Islamic society and directly opposed to their existence, it would not say no to the almighty dollar, and Merykara's museum brought in many leagues of dedicated scholars. She also used the museum's funds to donate considerable amounts to the Egyptian government, ensuring that they would leave her be. Her public front was suitable enough to leave well alone.

The woman on the other end of the telephone paused slightly. "I am afraid the director is unavailable." To be fair, she must get many people desperately trying to contact the director and be told to turn them all away. There would most likely be a set procedure of questions before the line would be passed to her mistress.

"I am an old - extremely old- friend, she will be glad to hear from me again." He would have to be careful; Egypt was an Islamic country and stood firmly against all vampires. Most vampires. Merykara was excused from her evil as long as she kept the money rolling in.

"Sir does not understand. I am the director's personal assistant and she is very busy at the moment and cannot possibly come to the telephone." Tessay paused, breathing in deeply. "Perhaps Sir does not realise that it is eleven in the morning in Egypt, a very busy time for all, and would prefer to call back at a later date."

Damn. He had misjudged the time difference. The woman had clearly realised that he and Merykara were the same and was discreetly telling him that she was resting. She was a good assistant, and clearly worth whatever she was being paid. However, he needed to talk to that infuriating girl right now.

"That is unacceptable. I have to talk to her now. It is about… a considerable donation for the museum, which I must have feedback on this morning. It would be impossible for me to wire the money without consulting the director herself."

Tessay did not reply for a long pause, clearly mulling over what the consequences would be for awakening her slumbering mistress or for letting a 'considerable donation' pass through her hands. "If it is that important, then I am sure that I would be able to patch the call to her office." She said this slowly, as if to convince herself to the idea. "She may be slightly cross, as she is involved in a very important meeting and really would be better to be undisturbed. Yes, she would view this as acceptable."

A small beep, and a few minutes of dialling tone. Then the receiver was lifted. For a space of twenty beats there was silence on the other end. A match was struck, and someone inhaled deeply.

"What son of an ill-begotten whore has decided to wake me from my slumber?" The voice was faint, almost tinny on the line, but he knew that she spoke softly in real life anyway. A soft voice, speaking in an accent that had been extinct for two millennia. It was strangely lilting and musical, fluent in a language that lay as dead as the culture she had been raised in. Merykara was one of the world's oldest vampires, and had seen her country laid to waste and loose any resemblance to the land of her girlhood.

It also made her as difficult as hell to deal with. She'd be even worse now she was being kept awake.

"I should firstly like to convey-"

He was immediately cut off by a growl of pure and utter exasperation. "By the stinking sores upon Seth's backside Eric, why in the goddess' name are you calling me? It is…. Yes, it is eleven. In. The. Morning. I am needing to rest. I actually do have a verrry important seminar with the Minister of Finance and the Minister for Tourism regarding funding for my little establishment so I do not have the time or really the care to deal with you and anything that you are so happening to find amusing. Because I don't find it amusing to bother me."

"Let me assure you that the purpose of this call is not to indispose you. This is a very urgent business matter that I have been entrusted with by my queen. She would like you to come here, to America, and discuss this further. Is this suitable?"

Merykara sucked air through her teeth noisily, and clacked her tongue. "What sort of business arrangement is so desperately important that she send you flitting about like some lowly insect?"

"It would have been exceptionally rude of her to contact you in person. She has no formal relationship to your court or to any of your children."

"Ye-es…. In this matter it is a million times true. But what sort of business matter requires mine assistance? I have no connections to the new world aside from you and your kin. I only dirty my feet in the political waters over here. I hold no eminence with you modern types." Her voice changed, become like a surly child and he knew that he was loosing her. She would not agree to anything without a great deal of cajolement. A typical woman, always after praise and admiration.

"It is nothing of any political importance. To bring you into a fight for power would be to greatly stack the odds on one side. She wishes to discuss a more personal issue, one I am unable to speak of unless we are face to face." His own voice turned conciliatory, as if he considered the intimate workings of American politics to be nothing compared to whatever she had to deal with. As if she was the solely important woman in the world. Arsinoë was the one famed for her arrogance and sense of self importance, but it was a malady which infect her maker as well, as if it was a symptom of the ancient culture they once shared.

"How verrry interesting… an important matter which is so important you cannot afford to tell me over this bugged telephone line." She snorted slightly, with a distinctly amused tone. His appeasement had worked. "I will assume that she shall pay for the expenses of my travel and my maids… oh, and a child. I shall bring a child. Lilith is of course busy in Germany, as Marcus is in Naples. Arsinoë shall accompany me, she has a distinct taste for Americans. There is a piece of Armana art being sold in New Amsterdam. I am much desirous of it. It is being sold next week on a Thursday. I shall meet with you in New Orleans next Friday. Tessay shall inform you of the further details. It is a million times done."


End file.
